Smuggling Raisins Ch 06

***** Friday August 6, Jesus spends the day on the sofa

"Put on something silk. Get some takeout menus and come join me in the living room."

She took out her brushes, painted her face with powder, did her eyes and lips. When she got down he was sitting on the couch naked, his legs played wide. There was a LEGO ninja cartoon on the TV. "You look beautiful Mrs O'Hare." And she did. Her hair was glossy and pulled back, tied in place with a salmon ribbon. She wore a black slip that covered her breasts with intricate lace and hung to the tops of her full white thighs. She wore no heels and her flat naked feet made her stance girlish, a contrast to her womanly body with it's abundant jiggly flesh. On her neck hung the silver chain with crucified Jesus hiding between her breasts, and the dog collar, leather and crude compared to her and everything else she wore.

"Shut all the curtains and get that round carpet" He pointed at the sitting room, his other hand grasped his penis and flopped it around "I'm going to spend the day here eating food I have not had in six years and getting my cock sucked."

A charge shot through her, nervous and claustrophobic, leaving her breasts achey and a panicky quickness to her breathing. She concealed it, and was pleased. She put take out menus on the side table, scurried around, closing curtains, pulled the carpet under his feet and finally sat next to him on the sofa, composed.

"She's barely holding it together," he thought. He could see her lip quivering against her will, and the pink hue in her cheeks. He pointed at the carpet, "Down bitch."

Again the shock through her body. She smoothed the silk slip down with her hands, her eyes shifted to his sex organs. "I can't do this. Look at him, a Mexican boy with long unkempt hair, half my size, playing with his limp tally-whacker in my living room. But Alan..."

A surge of resentment went through her. "Me on my knees. It's all about making me grovel." But she felt the other thing too; the submissive instinct a woman carries around secretly, like a make-up kit in her purse. When humans first clubbed each other over the head, women found themselves standing over their husband, his head opened like a coconut, brains in gory bits over the high grass and strange men around her, covered in blood, full of the lust for killing. Afraid for their lives, and their children, women find a language of posture and high pitched pleading, groveling in erotic submission, begging for the bloody men now looming over them to spend their aggression in rape, instead of butchery. The first move in the choreography is lower your gaze and kneel. Reluctantly she slid off the couch and knelt between his legs. His cock stiffened.

The new captive looks around for the assailant's woman, always a few yards behind. She will scream for him to crack her skull, exult in her pain during the rape, then after the triumphant husband has shot his load, the wife will mutilate the helpless captive, scar her face so the men will always prefer their wives over chattel. Jesus has no woman, a lucky break for Mrs O'Hare. So on her knees and eyes down she moves to the next step, which is to slide off her clothes so the man can kneel behind her, her ass up in the air, and together they make a bargain in the flesh, he takes her fertility and she lives. Madeline wore a silk slip, more naked than naked, so there was no need to undress, and Jesus didn't want her to raise her ass to him; he wanted her to suck. He script-blocked her. Still, sucking was a language of begging; the desire to please was rising in her body. She smelled his groin, salivated. She understood the carpet now, she would be her knees all day. Her head bowed, her face concealed by dark glossy hair falling over her eyes, pink ribbon wiggling on top.

He stroked her hair with his hand, fingered the ribbon, gentle. Then he slid his fingers over the silk lace on her bosom, down lower, pushing the silk against her tummy. He cupped her pubic mound with his fingers and pinched her a little. She's got no panties on. He thought. "She needs to be mounted bad. Wants her place cemented. You have to wait Mrs O; you earn that."

Still bowed she murmured "Should I wag my tail like a good bitch?"

"Wag."

She arced her back so her rump rose high and wiggled her bottom back and forth.

"Good girl." His hands left her and he stroked his cock, pointed it in her face. "Stay."

She nodded and wagged her rump again.

"You're going to play with my cock all day. When I say "sit", you sit back and leave my junk alone until I say "go" then you start sucking again. Don't stand unless I say so. Understood?"

She breathed in, nodded and whispered. "Yes Master." His balls were tightening up under his erection and a droplet formed on his bell head. "I'll know his thing like I never knew Horace's," she realized, "where to lick and how hard, if he likes me with tears running down my cheeks, or gagging on it. I'll know how far his sperm jets, how long it takes to recharge his nuts, if he grunts or curses or screams when he ejaculates. If he likes me to drink his spunk down, or will let me spit it out in my hand. He's not going to fuck me today as much as I need it, it's going to be about his cock."

Jesus un-paused his LEGO ninja show and said "Go."

She leaned in and began experimenting while he watched Jay and Sensei Wu and leafed through the menus, sorting them to his taste, Mexican, Chinese, Vietnamese. Sensei Wu chastised the ninja for disobeying him while Madeline experimented taking his organ down her throat and tickling his nuts with her fingernails.

It took all day, as Jesus had said it would. He didn't talk to her either, they were in the same room bodily, but otherwise each was alone. When she tried to speak to him he told her to shut up. He watched cartoons and ordered meal after meal, which she picked up at the door in her silk shift, to the delight of the delivery boys and her embarrassment. It all went on her credit card. He ate, drank beer and ordered her to suck his cock over and over, perhaps twenty times over the course of the day until late at night.

At first she experimented with where to suck, where to put her fingers, the pace and the pressure. It wasn't all about his cock after all, he loved having his nuts licked, which she eagerly exploited. It made him groan and pant and ignore his ninja show. She enjoyed the power of making him lose himself, learned to lick his nuts and thighs and barely touch his cock for long stretches until he couldn't stand it anymore. Then he thrust his fingers in her hair, held her head in place tight between his legs and fucked her face urgently, she spluttered and gagged, helpless, but then so was he in his need; they were helpless together for a moment.

Mrs O'Hare got a good look at his sex organ, slouched down in front of the sofa all day. She played with it while it was limp, cleaning it with her tongue, then flopped it this way and that so she could nuzzle his balls and breath over his organ.

As the day wore on Jesus became less interested in exactly what she did. So Madeline did what she wanted. She became fascinated with his cock as a pump. At first when she touched it his organ it was passive, responding to her caress like a woman. It grew in excitement when stroked, and shrank when ignored. But at a certain point it became male, hard and driven to accomplish it's purpose; to pump semen from his nuts out through the shaft in spurts, usually six to eight of them, almost all of his seed jetting out in the single first pump.

"Mrs O'Hare?"

"Yes?"

"Are you on the pill?"

"Yes."

"Go get them."

She came back downstairs. Jesus was erect, stroking himself. "Kneel here."

She knelt and held out her hand with the pill case. He took it form her and dropped it in the wastebasket, pumped his cock and spurted cum all over her nose. Madeline's face bunched up and tears slid down her cheeks into his semen, but she throbbed between her legs. She had not been bred in sixteen years. Without saying so Jesus had just promised to fuck her, and to keep her long enough to have a child. He must be happy with me.

That afternoon she placed her hands on his body and laid him down full length on the couch. He allowed her to direct him and never protested, even when she tied a pillowcase over his eyes and paused the TV. His most urgent arousal, his most ridged erections and most violent eruptions came over the next hour while she controlled him gently, pushing him with her hands into positions where she could explore his entire body. Finally she made him kneel on the oval carpet and bend his body down on the seat of the couch, still blindfolded. She knelt behind him, excited. She was controlling his sexuality, he was displayed to her in the submissive bitch position, asshole right there for her to fuck, if she only had a penis. She licked his nuts from the back, making them sway in the air like those of an animal, hanging behind his buttocks. Equally exciting, she debased herself, rimming his anus and then thrusting her tongue inside while she masturbated him with manicured fingers slick with coconut oil. He blubbered when he came, then collapsed into the sofa, jerking like an epileptic, which made her squeal with joy like a child who just figured out how to make a christmas toy work. She popped her tits out of her slip and leaned over his face, pushed the pillow-case up over his nose and lowered her nipples to his mouth. He sucked and chewed and clung to her while she stroked his hair and murmured for close to an hour. Then she stood without his verbal permission and went to wash her mouth out in the sink. When she came back he was sitting again, blindfold off, rewinding his show to where he left off. The rest of the day was "Sit" and "Go" and "get the door" which she did without imagination, eventually wobbly with exhaustion. She was queasy from gulping down so much spunk with less and less enthusiasm. Finally he stood and headed up the stairs. "Clean up and come upstairs." He said without turning.

She slumped on the cushions, exhausted and frustrated. She tidied the living room up, sponged off the sofa and floor. Took the rug out back so she could have the cleaners come and get it. Kneeling on the floor she gathered the takeout containers together and knelt in front of them like the family dog. Horace is dead in the cottage, probably getting stinky, and I'm sucking the boy's dick all day long like a bitch on her knees. She put her hand on her tummy. I deserve this. Woof. She leaned down and stuck her face in a white cardboard box from the Pho place on the corner. She ate his left-overs, her face in one box after another, wiggling her buttocks back and forth like she had been taught, the food all over her face; I'm a good bitch, eating master's leftovers, full of his spunk, good bitch, bitch, bitch. She slid her hands between her legs and attempted to masturbate on all fours, but could not finish herself off.

Upstairs he was asleep already, but he only occupied half the bed, so she said her prayers and took the other side, lonely. The next day he went straight to the sofa, spread his legs wide and said "Go." and she was busy all day. Saturday night it took her ninety minutes to clean up and there were black bags under her eyes. Jesus was getting bored and listless as well, there was no novelty anymore, he was tired of getting his cock sucked and seemed more interested in TV. She prayed he would not make her kneel between his legs for a third day.